


Encased in Glass

by SakuraWindChime



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Battle, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Established Relationship, Isekai Another World Zine (Yuri!!! on Ice), M/M, One Shot, War AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 21:03:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20315980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SakuraWindChime/pseuds/SakuraWindChime
Summary: A mercenary in the country of the enemy, Yuuri was never supposed to fall in love with the very person he was expected to vehemently hate.But just as Yuuri found a way for him and Viktor to be together without the cries of war, his newly discovered, fragile world is forced to have its endurance tested.Perhaps all isn't fair in love and war . . .





	Encased in Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Isekai: Another World -Jouhen Edition- zine
> 
> Edited by the lovely [Cenerea](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cenerea/pseuds/Cenerea)  
<3

Nervous energy thrummed through his body; Yuuri’s fingers trembled in their place upon the table’s rough birch wood. He watched Mari methodically brew their tea with the _samovar_, eyes following the arch of the amber liquid as it was poured into two cups. _Don’t back down now, you’ve called her out specially_. But, Yuuri’s leaden tongue struggled against the throbbing heartbeat in the base of his throat.

“What did you want to talk to me about, little bro?” Mari lightly prodded, sliding a ceramic cup toward him.

Yuuri immediately wrapped his fingers around it, using the permeating heat to ground himself. Dismissing the proffered strawberry jam, he took a deep, steadying breath before leaning forward until the table’s edge dug into his ribs.

“I want to defect,” Yuuri whispered, eyes locked with Mari’s.

Mari choked mid-sip, merlot eyes widening. The cup clattered with its abrupt return to the table as her hand flew toward her mouth to catch her spluttering.

“You _what_?” Mari hissed between wheezing breaths.

Yuuri frantically waved a hand to hush his sister, gaze discreetly darting around the mess hall to ensure no-one’s attention had been roused by the commotion. The large group of their fellow soldiers still seated at the far end continued their boisterous laughter, while the others appeared completely unfazed, and his head dipped with relief.

“Geez, Yuuri, I know you’ve daydreamed about leaving, but I didn’t think you were actually serious.” Exasperated, Mari heavily leaned onto the back of her chair.

“I mean it.” Yuuri punctuated his words with a firm stare. He had spent many sleepless nights slipping out of the warmth of his lover’s arms with thoughts churning about his future, _their _future. “This country holds a better life for us, one where we _have _a choice! We won’t be forced to enrol within the army or worry if the next famine will wipe us all out.”

Mari raised a brow, crossing her arms. “You expect me to follow?”

His body tensed, mouth dropping open with words that immediately wanted to rush out but were halted on his tongue. A promise to protect and help each other made long ago when they had no-one else echoed around his mind, but Yuuri supposed that their position had changed since then. Dismay weighed heavily within his chest; he had assumed that going into the field together would also mean leaving it together . . .

“I, _uhm_—you obviously don’t have to come with me. It’s your choice.” Yuuri’s fingers traced the rim of his cup, unable to bring himself to take a drink.

“It wasn’t so long ago that you hated this country.”

_A sword was pointed at his throat with the General’s callous demand to prove his worth, his icy gaze reflecting the same distaste Yuuri held for pretending to support the Rusans as a mercenary. Even his silver hair emulated the blood-steeped prosperity their country undeservedly enjoyed. _

“Being here has made me realise that I misplaced the blame.” Yuuri fists curled tight on the table, teeth gritted with shame at how ignorantly blindsided he had been to the truth that stared every Yamatian in the face. “Our country is suffering, our parents _died_, because the Lords refuse to put an end to a war that should’ve been over decades ago.”

His eyes had been opened on a surprisingly warm afternoon for Rusa, though he didn’t remember much of the otherwise unremarkable day. But there had been one moment that had haunted Yuuri in the months to follow, of the sunlight dappling the General golden and the musing words the man had uttered:

_“You know, Yuuri,” _he had begun, lying on the grass with his arms crossed behind his head._“It isn’t war that kills people, but the plump cushions of the rich._”

Viktor probably had no conception of just how profound an effect that quiet statement had on Yuuri. No longer than a handful of seconds, that one moment had tilted the world as Yuuri had perceived it onto a completely different axis.

Mari leaned forward, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. “And you think _they _will just let us live with the knowledge we have?”

_That _was exactly the reason why Yuuri had been wandering in the chill of the night, rather than indulging in the warm midnight oils with his beloved, strategising a plan. Familiar, festering fear bubbled within his gut as Yuuri’s gaze assessed the hall once more. _Everyone’s still in place_.

“We can go deeper into Rusa, away from the frontlines, where Yamato can’t reach us.” Yuuri finally took a sip of the cooling tea to soothe his parched throat. “Viktor and I have been toying with the idea of taking our annual leave from the army together, it’ll be the perfect opportunity.”

His sister gave a hum of approval, and the hope that maybe she was coming around to the idea lit a little flame, keeping Yuuri’s cold fear at bay. “What would _your _General think when he finds out who we are—because he _will_. Now, or years down the line.”

Bright laughter chimed in Yuuri’s mind. Closing his eyes for a moment, he felt the phantom heat of Viktor’s touch upon his skin. He remembered how the ice blue eyes had slowly thawed into the dazzling azure that filled with so much warmth when they looked his way, and how so many spars ended in a draw unless one played a game of tease to distract the other.

When he opened his eyes to his war-hardened sister, Yuuri had never been surer of anything.

“The bond we share isn’t something that could be so easily broken,” Yuuri smiled, wistful. “It may take a while, but he would come to understand.”

Worry weighed on Mari’s brows when she leaned forward. “Our parents always wanted what was best for us,” she spoke gently with a mournful sigh. “Are you sure about this?”

HIs vigorous nod held no hesitation, and Mari reached to lay her hand softly over Yuuri’s on the tea cup. “Then we’ll need to—”

A figure advanced determinedly toward them from their periphery, the metallic glint of armour giving them away before its clanking even reached their ears. Mari’s hand slid away to instead bring her cup to her lips, while Yuuri slowly leant back.

“_Oi, _Katsuki!” Yuuri only had a moment to cringe at the volume of Yuri’s bellow before a hand slammed against the table and the teenager bent over him. “The old man is asking for you _again_,” Yuri grated, his emerald eyes fierce. “_This _time you tell Viktor that I’m not his damn carrier pigeon, because _by God _he never listens to me.”

Yuuri scraped his chair back, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Sure thing,” he acquiesced before shooting a questioning gaze to Mari.

“Go on.” Mari waved him away. “We can catch up more another time.”

A small thrill surged through Yuuri, as it always did, in anticipation of seeing Viktor. It was ridiculous really: they saw each other every day.

“I’ll hold you to it, Katsuki,” Yuri sneered.

Yuuri laughed, feeling light and giddy at the prospect of sparking the start of a brighter future. They bid their goodbyes and he made his way out of the mess hall toward the General’s cabin.

With a brisk pace to combat the chill of the twilight air, Yuuri took the path through the stables and across the vast expanse of the training area. A number of soldiers milled around the compacted ground, either quietly chattering with each other or walking between barracks.

Soldiers enjoying the fresh air of the evening was far from unusual. The static atmosphere, however, was and it raised the hairs on Yuuri’s nape. It was tense, ready to snap like the moment before thunder struck the ground, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of having one too many pairs of eyes trailing after his passage.

In all of Yuuri’s years in active duty, one asset became paramount in the dangerous tip-toeing of the line of survival: gut instinct.

And his gut _roiled_, surging up his throat and leaving a bitter taste of apprehension in his mouth.

Yuuri took the familiar wooden staircase two at a time, rapping quickly on the door before entering Viktor’s receiving room. The lit hearth threw its dancing glow over the broad back of his lover as he leant with his hands splayed over his desk.

“Hey,” Yuuri announced softly upon closing the door.

Silence laid thick within the four walls and Yuuri keenly felt the absence of his lover’s usual whimsical greeting. Flight instincts surged through his mind, but Yuuri pushed them down; he was in no danger here. With quiet steps Yuuri padded over, concerned apprehension stiffening his body as Viktor shook from whatever held his attention captive.

“What’s wrong?” Yuuri questioned, raising a hand to place it on Viktor’s shoulder in comfort.

Only for it to be halted by the harsh impact of the parchment that Viktor shoved into his fingers.

“Is this true?” Viktor’s brittle voice sounded hollow, as if a small amount pressure could break him at any moment.

Hesitant and with his heart skittering, Yuuri held up the crinkled parchment to read the single line of inked cursive that marred its surface.

_Katsuki Yuuri is a spy for Yamato_

A choked gasp escaped his throat. _No, no, no_.

His fingers tightened their trembling grip on the parchment. Icy dread poured down Yuuri back, his clothes clinging from the cold sweat that broke out across his skin.

He was going to tell Viktor in his own time! All that pacing, thinking and _over thinking_to the point of exhaustion and barely restrained hysteria, rendered completely null by the scratch of a quill. The vibrating tremors of the truth quaked Yuuri’s heart, leaving fractures upon its surface with its untimely revelation.

Someone had betrayed him.

“Who . . . who sent this?” It was an effort speak with his horror leaden tongue.

Viktor finally turned to face him. Though Yuuri wished that he had remained where he was, all so that he didn’t have to witness Viktor’s love-softened features corrupt into the mask of the frigid and callous General.

“I think, _Yuuri_—if that is even your real name—_whom _is rather beside the point,” Viktor scorned, voice colder than the deepest of Rusan winters.

That icy gaze froze Yuuri on the spot; he was held prisoner within the depths of the eyes in which he truly believed he had found home. All over again, he acutely felt the phantom point of a sword at his throat from all of those distant months ago. _The world had been so different then_.

“I—I can explain,” Yuuri weakly croaked.

_This wasn’t how it was supposed to be_.

Viktor’s rage was _incandescent_.

It rolled off him in waves, glowing brighter than the flames of the hearth beside them but held none of its welcoming warmth. And beneath it all, in the kindling that raised the blaze, laid the bleeding burn of deception.

“I _knew _I should have never trusted a mercenary,” he spat. Yuuri flinched, watching with wide eyes as Viktor straightened his spine and balled his fists. The fissures upon his heart grew deeper, _cracking _with every punishing word. “Did you jump into my bed, cut open my chest to lay my heart bare, purely so that I could feed you juicier information?”

Yuuri’s eyes stung with the swelling of tears. “I would never—” _lie to you like that_. But that wasn’t true was it? He _had _lied. He hadonly presented a reflection of himself and allowed that _fragile _thing that was their beautiful, fallible relationship to form. “That was never my intention . . . I _love _you!” It was a battle to force the words out of his rapidly closing throat.

Viktor laughed. A sound so shrill it bordered on mania; it resonated within his bones, finally shattering the weakened pieces of his heart within his chest. Yuuri staggered away from the stranger before him.

“Spare me the lies. Your false feelings aren’t needed anymore,” Viktor’s stern voice wavered to a rasp, a slender hand coming up to cover his face. “Now I know why you always left in the dead of the night—it’s the prime hour to go and spill more information to your _real _General.”

The searing venom in his voice lashed at Yuuri’s skin, infecting every pore in its wake and paralysing his lungs. With a pained jolt, Yuuri realised that Viktor had admitted to noticing his escapades into the night. That, instead of questioning the wanders of his lover, had simply accepted them and blindingly placed his trust in a foolish man who did not deserve such kindness.

Viktor had breathed a vitality into his life that Yuuri thought had died long ago with the withering of the Yamatian rice fields. He had given a soul full of resentment a reason to _love _again. Yuuri would have fought until his very last breath if it meant that he could be gifted with more time to bask in Viktor’s brilliant light.

“When I first came to Rusa,” Yuuri begun, wringing his hands together to control their shake. “I’ll admit that I posed as the perfect, diligent soldier to gain information that would help Yamato. But then you . . . you unexpectedly opened up your hand and heart to me. I fell in love with the passionate, silly, affectionate man who hid beneath the aloof mask you used to parade.” Yuuri hung his head, tears slipping down his cheeks at the aching throb of his devastated heart. “Viktor, I _swear _to you, since the very moment I felt my heart waver, no intelligence has slipped past my lips into Yamato’s ear.”

Viktor’s breathing hitched. His form trembled and Yuuri stepped forward, _desperately _wanting to hold him and to press kisses of adoration and assurance into his pale skin.

“I don’t know if that’s enough,” Viktor whispered into his palm, distraught.

They stood so close, Yuuri’s rapid exhales fluttering the soft strands of hair that laid over Viktor’s fingers. Yet, the distance between them had never been so vast, collapsed into a gaping chasm of heartbreak at their feet.

Clatters and shouts sounded from outside and Viktor’s head whipped up, hand falling away. Firelight danced upon the tear tracks down his face and glistened bright upon his narrowed, anguished eyes. Viktor shoved past him, knocking into Yuuri’s shoulder before he had time to evade.

Viktor ripped open the curtains to survey the ground below. Wary of the tense hold of Viktor’s shoulders, Yuuri approached with caution.

“Is _this _your doing too?” Viktor growled, whirling upon him and pointing an accusatory finger outward.

“I—what?” Stunned and confused, Yuuri glanced out the window.

It was chaos. With cries of war soldiers darted across the training ground, fighting and roaring, the metallic clangs of their drawn swords crashing through the night air. “I have no idea what this is.”

Viktor snarled, turning on his heel to snatch his sheathed _shashka _from beside his desk, and stalked to the door.

“If you have caused mutiny in my camp, _Katsuki_,” Viktor barbed, hand gripping the brass handle. “I’ll _personally _ensure that you are dealt a punishment befitting for a traitor.”

Without awaiting a reply, Viktor flung open the door and flew down the stairs.

“Viktor!” Yuuri cried, darting out to the landing as Viktor disappeared and moments later plunged into the writhing turmoil of friend against foe.

Panic threatened to overwhelm him. This was the worst possible timing for a _coup_. A clear mind was vital in battle and Viktor was cloyed with the turmoil of his lover’s deceit. Yuuri’s breath stuttered. _Think, think_. There hadn’t been any whispers of revolution among the troops, no instances of secret meetings aside from the Yamatian network of spies. If anything, the soldiers had only sung the praises of the strength and prowess of their General. _So why?_

Unless . . .

_He was bait._

Viktor was in danger.

Dashing back inside, Yuuri quickly casted his gaze around for a sword of his own. Spotting a sabre atop the mantlepiece, he quickly grabbed it and sped down the stairs. Plunging into battle with adrenaline humming through his veins, Yuuri immediately ducked to avoid the wayward slash of a dagger. Running across the arena with the twang of blood thick in the air, he swivelled, side-stepped, and parried in his desperation to find a moonlit flash of unblemished silver that did not belong to a weapon smeared with crimson.

At last, he sighted Viktor deftly performing a _danse macabre _with every precise joust of his blade. Completely isolated from allied soldiers, Viktor was held prisoner in the enemies’ constricting surround at the edge of the field. Despite the evident power of his swing, the fierce heaving of Viktor’s chest betrayed his fatigue.

_He needs help_.

Yuuri charged with a shout, swiping his sabre with a low arch into the cluster. The reaction was immediate: soldiers leapt to the side in surprise, their own blades coming up to meet his. Metal screeched in his ears and ricocheted through his hands, as he fought his way towards the centre, towards Viktor.

“What are _you _doing, fighting against your own countrymen?” Viktor bellowed, scornful and breathless.

Yuuri _finally _reached him and glared in challenge to the accusation in his azure eyes. “I’m protecting you,” he declared with a _pirouette_so that they stood back-to-back, blade aimed at their mutual enemies.

“I don’t need help from a traitor.”

“Tough luck,” Yuuri bit out, ignoring the sting of Viktor’s caustic words. “Because I’m not leaving you when you’re the target!”

He lurched forward with a thrust, instantly missing the reassuring warmth of Viktor’s body against his. Though he had no need to fear. Many sparring sessions proved he could hold his own in battle, while Yuuri ensured to cover every blind spot that the enemies were all too ready to exploit. No-one _dared _to touch Viktor while under Yuuri’s watchful eye.

“Katsuki!”

Yuuri spun at the bellow of the familiar voice of his reporting Commander. A glimmer of metal caught the light, deftly aimed at his throat, and Yuuri swung up his sabre with a _clang_that painfully reverberated through his arms. _Bless the gods_. Any moment later and Yuuri would not have lived to see the dawn.

Stormy irises glinted viciously across their locked blades.

“Cao Bin,” Yuuri grunted, pushing on his hilt to disengage but was met with equal force. He expected nothing less from Yamato’s chosen best. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Your position was compromised. Yamato can’t afford a weak link.” Cao stepped away and lunged, trading ringing blows with Yuuri’s sword. “I warned that your glass heart would be your downfall.” Side-step, counter-parry. “But, thankfully for us, we can finally get—” defend, feint “—the illustrious Nikiforov on his knees.” _Cut_.

Searing pain erupted in Yuuri’s side as his own blade met the supple flesh of his opponent. A cry escaped his throat, staggering back in shock and grip momentarily slipping from the hilt as he pressed his fingers to staunch the slick wound. A foot connected with the back of Yuuri’s legs, his knees buckling under the pressure. His back hit the ground, head only just barely saved from the last-minute instinct to break his fall with his arms.

A blade hovered over his heaving chest and Yuuri’s eyes darted around to locate his sabre. Only to find it strewn across the ground mere inches away from his reach. _Shit_. Those cruel, stormy eyes met his once more and sheer terror seized him in its icy talons.

“See you in the next life, Katsuki,” Cao smirked, raising his blade.

In a blur of silver, Cao’s looming shadow was ripped away. Yuuri held his breath as he watched Viktor and Cao trade blows too fast for his clouded mind to keep track. The support of his quaking arms collapsed, hot agony pulsing through his torso as he laid prone on the writhing battlefield.

At some point, Yuuri’s eyes slid closed and the next thing he knew, strong arms slid under his shoulders and legs to lift him up. Tears fell down his face at the jostling movement; Yuuri whimpered, the din of battle left behind them in deft weaves and dodges as his rescuer rushed them to the safety of the empty barracks.

Soft bedding welcomed his battered body before gentle hands came to cradle his face.

“_Yuuri_, stay with me.” Viktor’s urgent voice whispered through the harsh buzz filling his ears. “I can’t lose you.”

With great effort, Yuuri blearily cracked open his eyes to see the radiance of his lover hovering over him.

“V-Viktor, I’m sorry . . .” He croaked around his thick, heavy tongue. “I never meant to hurt y—”

Soft lips met his, cutting off his strained words. The kiss lasted only a few seconds, chaste with its urgency, yet it soothed the jagged edges of the glass shards that had punctured his heart.

“No traitor would’ve defended their enemy in battle like you just did,” Viktor hushed softly, anguish tainting his soothing tone. “You’ve proven your loyalty.”

Viktor’s thumb tenderly caressed his cheek, and Yuuri choked on a sob of buoyant relief to have received such blessed forgiveness that he did not deserve. “L-Love you.”

“I love you too, my darling.” Viktor pressed their foreheads together, the firm weight against his cut making Yuuri gasp. “The wound is still fresh, but I promise you we’ll make it through this.”

Yuuri firmly clung to Viktor’s nape, desperately grasping onto tendrils of his dimming consciousness, while he drunk in the short breaths shared between the fierce reunion of their lips.

“Together.”

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Terms:  
Samovar - A Russian vessel used to heat water with fire, typically for tea. The teapot filled with concentrated tea is placed atop and heated by the rising hot air.  
Yamato - Ancient name for Japan.  
Shashka - Single-handed sabre, with an appearance between a full sabre and a straight sword. Adopted in 1881 by the Russians after their conquest of the Caucasus.  
Danse macabre (French): Dance of Death.
> 
> ~
> 
> Reading this through months later, I wince at how rushed the whole piece feels and this AU absolutely deserves at least a few chapters dedicated to its development, but I clearly had high hopes for the world limit XD  
I hope you enjoyed nonetheless!


End file.
